Author Archives: Scud

I start the new chemo tomorrow – I could even know in a week or Two if it’s worth carrying on with it. The Doctor told me that if this latest round doesn’t respond there will be no Third round – and with it being an aggressive form of the cancer, they’ll know very soon into the chemo whether it’s working or not. I have the Orthopaedic people to see on Friday about the Fractures and I am in for a day for more chemo next week. I think the routine will be Three days of chemo in St Jocks, another Five days of the Lance Armstrong’s [steroids], more chemo for a day, then the Three week lay off and begin again. I’ll be Fifty Three on Sunday and I have to at least entertain the thought of me maybe not reaching Fifty Four. Linda, Nick and Andrew are coming up from Hawick on Saturday for a visit and to take me out for my Birthday, so, it should, as always, be special. I’ve got the sun shining in the window and ‘Woman in chains’ has just started on the Lap top – that’s ‘awright’. Anyway, it’s a bit of a waiting game for me over the next week or Two. No wacky Baccy in any shape or form and eat healthy food is the road I’m heading along.

While looking through my Family History the other day I noticed that on my mothers side, her father Bill Jenkinson, who was known, for short, as Grandad Jenky, was a direct descendant of the famous Gambian slave, Kunta Jinke, whose father was Wullie Jenkinson, a sailor on the high seas who had a laison with a Gambian woman – the resulting offspring was the famous Kunta Jinke. He famously escaped from his slave ship bound for the West Indies and swam through miles of Shark infested waters back to the Gambia where he started up their First ever Bookies and Pie shop. This was in the early 19th Century at the same time as his father, Wullie, was making Leith his home port. My ‘Granda Jenky’ was a direct descendant of ‘Gambian Wullie’.

Well, it had to be April Fools day that I’d be told some potentially devastating news. After my visit to St Jocks today I found out that I’d need more chemo therapy – this chemo therapy will be the gateway to the stem cell treatment, which, they hope, will finally cure the cancer. The only problem is if, like the last bout, I don’t respond in a positive manner, I won’t be able to have the stem cell treatment and that means Goodnight Vienna. It could be Six months,a Year, Five Years – who knows. It’s like, I’ve got a boat and I’ve got a paddle but it’s a case of are they strong enough to withstand the White water rapids that are staring me in the face. Or, I could say that it’s like Scotland being 3-2 up in the World Cup Final with Five minutes to go and they’ve used their Three subs and they’ve had their best Two players sent off and the team they’re playing are like Brazil from 1970, plus Maradonna, Zidane, George Best and Johan Cruyff – and they’ve just been awarded a free kick in a great position. You could argue, quite rightly, that Scotland would never be in the World Cup Final, let alone be 3-2 up against that team, but a Fitba’ lover would see the predicament I’m in. My heart is the problem – if it holds up to the chemo I’ll be able to get the ‘Boys from Brazil’ stem cell stuff. It’s all very touch and go and in the hands of the fates. Just my luck that I’ll be hairless for France – the holiday will be in the middle of my chemo but it won’t be affected by it. Being over Two Stones heavier than I was when I started the last bout of treatment can only be a good thing and I shouldn’t look as emaciated this time. It’s a very sobering thing, to be told if plan B doesn’t work, there’s no plan C. I thought today about how a week tomorrow could be my last Birthday, then I thought about before Davy and I popped up, Linda and Chris had lost Two wee brothers in a week – Bunty had a stillborn and less than a week later Andrew was killed while playing down at the Bing not long, I think, before his Eighth birthday – Linda and Chris would know for sure. It’s funny, but, I was a walk with Davy and Maisie and Molly the Dugs a couple of weeks ago down near the bit where Andrew was killed [ I played and ran about on the same part of the siding as the accident] and they’d literally opened the new road Five minutes before. It turns off to the left just before what used to be the Level Crossing – where the wee pug Train Engine used to cross over from the Pumphy works to the wee siding which ran part of the way alongside the sadly long gone ‘Hairy Tip’. The road builders who were there adding the last wee touches told us that they had come across huge Railway sleepers and bits of Railway while they were making that part of the road. I remember walking down that same way with Allan[ who used to be my uncle Allan until he said one day about Ten years ago ‘Colin, son, caw me Allan’ – and I did. From that day on whenever I mentioned ‘Allan’ people would say ‘Allan’ who ? – the same people, who for the previous Forty years knew who I was talking about when I said ‘Uncle Allan’ or ‘ma Uncle Allan’. Anyway, Allan [ma Uncle Allan] and I used to go an occasional walk down that way and anytime we approached what was the old Level crossing, he would point over to the side of what was left of the Bing and say ‘that’s where yer brother was killed’ and for the next few steps, until we passed the point, he would say nothing, then after a few seconds he would snap out of his wee state of mind and show me a Bees nest or where he saw a Fox last week. He always looked out for Skylarks – they were numerous in Pumphy at one time but he hadn’t seen any for years ‘it’s that bloody New Toons fawt’ he would say. Then , I thought, Andrew only had Seven Birthdays – I’ve had Fifty Two – I’ve been lucky in that respect. So, it’s chemo Three times a week, every Three weeks for a couple of Months at least and hoping for the best.

We’ve all got Laptops and Tablets and phones that play music – I love music and I love making up playlists on my Laptop – Hippie Favourites, Classical favourites, 60’s, Santana, opera, whatever. I’ve got my big ‘Fuck off Favourites’ list – 127 songs and 8 hours long that I play almost every day- I’m always adding to it and shuffling the order about. It’s more or less all the songs that I have never tired of listening to, whether I heard them for the first time last month or in the Sixties when I first became aware of the wonderful world of music – Georgy Girl, Downtown, It’s not unusual, Elusive Butterfly, Lazy Sunday Afternoon, Leavin’ on a Jet plane, Penny Lane, to mention just the tip of the tip of the Iceberg of the songs I was familiar with from an early age. Lilly the Pink, Where do you go to my lovely, -what a decade for music. Those were the catchy classics that were on the Radio all the time – I now love a lot of the music from the Sixties which was big at the time but I wasn’t big enough to understand or be aware of- Cream, The Who, Pink Floyd, Jimi Hendrix, Janis Joplin, The Grateful Dead, Bob Dylan. There are a few Sixties songs on my big playlist but only Four Santana songs, a bit surprising when you consider I have 22 of their CD’s and have seen them play Three times. I have a few songs or pieces of music on the playlist which would be on a separate ‘drifting off to death music’ playlist. ‘The Flower duet’, ‘Rave on John Donne’, Pie Jesu, ‘Send in the clowns’ [ the Barbra Big nose version], the ‘Buffalo Robe’, ‘The Girl with the Flaxen hair’, ‘Incident at Neshabur’. Neshabur was where Toussaint L’ouverture led his slave army to victory against the might of Napoleon over a month ago -the early 19th Century to be more precise- and if ye want more precise than that ye can eff off and Google it – ah’m Scud Broon fae Pumphy and no ‘Simon F in’ Schama. The final song on the playlist has and probably always will be ‘Albatross’ by Peter Greens Fleetwood Mac. I’d want that to be among the last songs I ever heard.

Well, I’ll find out today what treatment the hospital has in store for me regarding the auld cancer. I phoned today asking about pain killers – I’ve had a bad couple of nights, sleep wise. The pain in my right under arm down to my elbow is quite intense, my neck, especially the right side is the worst of all. Even more worrying is the wee twinge I get in my chest whenever I breathe in or out. The blood cancer/ Lymphoma hasn’t been great, but ever since Dr Maung told me in September that I had a 50/50 chance of surviving the cancer, my first thought was ‘at least I won’t have to do those shit shifts at B and Q for a while’. I was never worried about things – it’s a wee bit different now that ‘Plan A’ has failed. I’m determined that the wee holiday in France will be a great wee few days for Davy and I – we might not have many opportunities in the future to go on holiday again. The thought of being in the Parc des Princes Thirty Two years to the day since we were there for the last Euro’s in France is an exciting thought. Davy phoned today to tell me he’d ordered our France tops- I’ll have my France 82 top with ‘Tresor’ on the back and my France 84 top with ‘Giresse’ on the back of that. Hopefully this cancer will have a heart and let me see France in June. ….. It’s now 5.30pm and Dr McNeil phoned earlier. I’ve to go to St Jocks tomorrow morning to see him about the chemo. I’ve to get a different kind of chemo therapy this time -just my luck that my body hair is back to about 90% of what it was pre last chemo – now it looks as though my Parisienne night with Fifi le F–k and Nat king Cole will be called off. I’ve also to give blood samples and get cancer pain killers – my lapse on Saturday will no doubt show up on the blood samples -after no fags of any kind since the Heart attack in October [Five Months and a week ] I had a few joints and I must admit I thoroughly enjoyed every one of them – not enough to want to make a habit of it again, but enough to make me celebrate the end of my next chemo with a wee Rastafarian roll up – if I make it. It was Mr M and Mrs M’s fault your honour- they made me dae it. No they didn’t – we had a good wee night and I can still drink from Eight at night till Eleven in the morning. I suppose it’s all about thinking the best – it could have been worse – the Doctor could have told me to organise an undertaker and a measuring tape.

Easter and Christmas mean nothing to me in their Christian sense other than them being a time when the Telly is better than the rest of the year. I remember having arguments with auld Scud about religion – he’d say we’d been brought up as Protestants and I’d get angry and say that ‘how can I be a Christian/Protestant when I have nothing but contempt and disdain for not only Christianity but all religions’. I find the whole Idea of a supreme creator who sent his only son to Earth to die and rise again up to the Kingdom of Heaven, at best laughable and at worse insulting. Auld Bunty was right, the Bible was written by Middle eastern people, about middle Eastern people, for middle Eastern people. Then auld Scud would come out with ‘it’s got bugger all tae dae wi’ God or Jesus’ and when I said ‘it’s got everything tae dae wi God and Jesus, he’d accuse me of being ‘thrawn and awkward, just like yer mother’. Then we’d end up shouting and swearing at each other – that’s F–kin’ religion for ye. If we have to worship something, let it be the Sun or the Moon or the Rivers or Seas or the seasons of the year [ apart from Winter because who wants to celebrate the cauld ?] Let it be real, at least.

I’ll begin by mentioning that I live in Craigshill and by ‘Wildlife’ I mean Flora and Fauna and not the wild women that come oot the Tower singing ‘The Sash’ or ‘Danny Boy’. Mind you, if Flora and Fauna both walked out of the Tower at the same time singing ‘The Sash’ and ‘Danny Boy’, I’m quite sure that David Attenborough would have enough material for an epic series or Two. Anyway, the Wildlife I’m speaking of in particular are Starlings. I’ve got a fair sized Tree outside the flat and it’s a favourite haunt for, other than Starlings, Cushy Doos [or Wood Pigeons as non Pumphy people call them – a pot pourri of Bawbags, hoors and comic singers],Magpies and Crows. Earlier I saw some Starlings and they were all cleaning and preening themselves – it was almost like synchronised preening. With it coming into breeding and nesting season, they were obviously getting ready for the ‘Starry Lamp’ and an attempt to ‘get a Burd’. Flora and Fauna fae the Tower, however, will breed all year round if there is enough Cider, Heroin and Darts. I get Gulls as well – big Bastards who are just trying to live like all the other birds, but big Bastards, nevertheless. They’re back at my window after a good while away. I used to hide just under the window after putting food out for the Birds on the window box, then, when I heard the clumping about of Gulls outside I would jump up quickly and scare the shite oot them. After a few days of this, they buggered off and left the food for the Starlings, Magpies, Doos and whatever else dropped in. If I stay still enough the birds will happily eat away – I’ve whistled at the Pigeons and they look around with that glaikit look that they have when they’re no’ quite sure if there’s danger lurking or not. This time last year I’d just moved into the flat and just a few weeks later the Magpies were nesting outside and I used to watch them build their nest – going in a different way every day to outwit the Crows. Sadly, after returning from Bordeaux last May I discovered that the nest had been abandoned – no doubt the Crow that I’d seen dodging about near the nest chased the Magpies off for good.

It certainly feels like Springtime today -a beautiful, sunny day. It is still a bit cold and I have seen at first hand today the out and out Bawbaggery of some people in this country who go mad when the sun comes out. You sometimes see them in the shopping centre or near the Mall at crazyhill – on a January day when the sun is strong but not warm enough to be out and about in T-shirts and shorts. It was a bit like that today, people outside dressed for a beautiful day in the summer and it’s not even April yet – F–k them, I hope they get run over by a tractor. I bought Tuscan beans to add to my Corned beef hash – £1.39 for a tin of beans from the Scotmid. I’m hoping a nice dinner will pick me up a bit. I have not had any Ranitidine/Zantac for Three days. It isn’t one of the life saving tablets, like the Aspirin and Clopidogrel, but I would imagine that after being given it on prescription, it must have some importance. Anyway I’m off to listen to some Birdy – got her new CD Friday.

Had a bit of a blow out on Saturday and will probably pay for it – I’m certainly suffering a bit from it. Had a few Glayvas, some Baileys a bottle of wine and some Rastafarian old Holburns. I certainly won’t be making a habit of it but I must admit smoking a joint felt good but knowing that it won’t be doing me any good is enough to not be doing it again any time soon. I did say to the Doctor that I would nip it in the bud [ no pun intended ] and that’s me till I’m killed or cured of this Cancer. My own guess is that I’m f–ked, but I’m not a Doctor, so, can’t be sure. Missing my tablets or being erratic at best with them has to stop. It’s not as if I’ve got dozens to take. Not going to bed till Eleven in the morning and not taking my night time tablets, then not getting up till half Ten at night and being half a day late with my morning tablets won’t do. I still feel a bit sore -my neck and back especially.